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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993828">Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMore_17/pseuds/NoMore_17'>NoMore_17</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>WangXian's Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Souls Know, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love always finds a way, M/M, Memories of Past Life, Recovered Memories, SoulsKnow, WangXian meets Souls Know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:41:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMore_17/pseuds/NoMore_17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But after all, who am I?</p><p>Sometimes I seem to be a wandering soul, an occasional inhabitant of this body that takes me around the world. Aimlessly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>WangXian's Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this is my very first WangXian's Fic.<br/>There is a short tale I was writing that fits perfectly with WangXian. (Sometimes it happens with the stuff I'm working on.) And here we are.<br/>I hope you'll enjoy tis little thing.<br/>Feel free to leave any comment, suggestion, even criticism. I need to learn, and I know everyone can teach me something.<br/>You can find me on twitter as well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The airport is pretty deserted.</p><p>Few very few people wander somewhat disoriented between the waiting rooms and the gates open for boarding.</p><p>Home. I can't think of anything else. <em>I want to go home</em>.</p><p>I still feel all the wickedness, the malice of the people who hunt me. I need to get away from all this shit. At least for a while. To drive out all the negativity that is slowly and relentlessly consuming my soul.</p><p>I wonder, if my father was still alive, what he would think of all of this. In moments like this, I miss him more than anything.</p><p>Home. <em>I want to go home</em>.</p><p>There is only one place where I feel at home, even if technically it is not my home. It's a place where there is always the sun, surrounded by the scent of fresh grass. The sound of water mixing with birdsong.</p><p>My safe haven. Where I can freely think, dream, read, draw, listen to music, and play.</p><p>Who knows why I can do these simple things only when I'm alone. As if only in solitude can I indeed be myself.</p><p>
  <em>Myself.</em>
</p><p>But after all, who am I?</p><p>Sometimes I seem to be a wandering soul, an occasional inhabitant of this body that takes me around the world. Aimlessly.</p><p>The loudspeaker announces a canceled flight. Another one. What's going on these days? People seem to have gone mad.</p><p>I check my flight. It seems to be on time. Good.</p><p>I look around. The leather sofas in the C area are unusually empty. There are so few people that it's almost scary. It is surreal.</p><p>Even the grand piano that stands in the corner of the room is free.</p><p>I like this new thing that there is a piano at every airport, at every station, made available to travelers who want to play. And share emotions that only music can bring out.</p><p>Who knows, maybe I could...</p><p>I have never played in public. I'm not a pianist. I remember the piano lessons as a child; they were like torture.</p><p>But piano has always been in my life. And music as well.</p><p>Lately, in a more... how to say... <em>intense</em> way.</p><p>Slowly I head towards the splendid Steinway, which winks at me from the opposite side of the departure lounge.</p><p>My pace is long and steady. So slow that I seem to be moving on an air-cushion.</p><p>The heels of the black boots I wear resonate with the polished marble. Toc. Pause. Toc. Pause. Toc.</p><p>The black leather coat that goes down to my feet moves like a cloak from the old days.</p><p>A couple of heads turn to look at me. I'm used to it; I don't care. Maybe it's the <em>cloak</em> effect...</p><p>Who knows how it came to me to buy this coat.</p><p>There are many strange things I have been doing impulsively recently, aside from buying me a coat that seems to have come straight from the Matrix set.</p><p>I bought a <em>dizi</em> on Amazon. Bamboo black, glossy. It also has a scarlet red tassel attached to one end.</p><p>I played the flute in elementary school, but a <em>dizi</em>... And yet, I couldn't resist. Something pushed me to buy it, and less than twenty-four hours later, it was in my hands. Beautiful.</p><p>Maybe it's all because of this music I've had in my head for days. No... it has been weeks, maybe months...</p><p>A melody accompanying everything I do. It echoes from afar... Day and night.</p><p>Sometimes it is heart-warming, sometimes it is gut-wrenching. It's overwhelming, but I still haven't figured out if it's more joy or pain.</p><p>There is something; I can sense it. Something I should have. <em>Someone</em> I should have. Yet I haven't.</p><p>I look at the polished mahogany in front of me. Slowly I put my baggage on the ground. I pause for a moment to realize that my whole life is in there. All I ever need is packed in a small carry-on bag. A laptop out of memory, an iPad with all my ebooks, some sketchpads, a couple of diaries where I try to write what appears behind my closed eyes, what I dream of, or what I imagine, or maybe they are memories? Of what, though? Maybe one day I'll write a book, who knows...</p><p>These are the only things in this small green cabin bag, with some underwear, a change of clothes, and nothing more.</p><p>I'm a light traveler; I don't need anything more. The cell phone is around my neck, hung with the silver cord of these trendy covers. I also have a spare. The cord, of course, strictly black.</p><p>I think that if the world ends, I have everything I need with me. To leave. Or to start all over again.</p><p>I have to lower the piano bench; I'm definitely taller than the last occupant. I push my coat back and sit down.</p><p>Instinctively I bring my hair back; I do the messy half-tail that I always wear, I wrap the usual black scrunchie three times.</p><p>It is the soft scrunchie I keep on my wrist when I'm not using it, to which, out of instinct, I tied a red ribbon that I found abandoned in a drawer a few days ago before I felt overwhelmed by the negativity that seemed to have stung me as suddenly as unexpectedly. A piece of red cloth that appeared to have given me some bravery to face the world. A light sparkle of color hanging fluttering from that messy bun is my hair at the nape of my neck.</p><p>I inhale deeply and place my hands on the keyboard.</p><p>Ebony and ivory are cold to the touch yet inviting.</p><p>Almost hesitantly, I let the music flow directly from my soul.</p><p>♪ E ... ♪ C, A, B, G, E ... ♪</p><p>I close my eyes. It's as if my fingers have a life of their own. They fly on the keyboard like they never did.</p><p>And I feel something. Something that rises from the deep.</p><p>It's <em>energy</em>. As if it was a tangible thing, a heat, a light perhaps. It rises from inside and spreads outside.</p><p>Like a wave that surrounds me, that wraps everything.</p><p>I read somewhere about <em>spiritual energy</em>. Actually, I have read so many things recently... My iPad says that in two months, I've read seventy books, basically my yearly goal... But what is a reading goal? I just read.</p><p>I read, and everything brings me back to the same point. Like I'm dancing around something. Something I don't understand. I know that somewhere there are all the answers, they are close, I can almost take them... but they elude me like a whisper you can't catch.</p><p>♪ A ... ♪ B, C, D, G, A ... ♪</p><p>My throat closes up; I can hardly breathe as the music continues to flow. As the <em>energy</em> continues to flow.</p><p>I feel the tears, but I don't open my eyes. I won't let them out. Like I never let anything out.</p><p>Familiar yet unknown images appear behind my closed eyelids. It’s as if someone were saying to me, "<em>Go home. It's time.</em>"</p><p>My stomach tightens, something pushes me to open my eyes; they have been closed on the world for too long.</p><p>In front of me, there is the window of the VIP room. And, reflected in the glass, a boy.</p><p>Even if the reflected image is not too sharp, it is clear that he is breathtakingly beautiful. The flawless face, the porcelain skin, the black hair styled in an elaborate bun. The image flickers for a moment and reveals other details. He wears a kind of snow-white coat that touches the ground. A white ribbon wrapped around his forehead. I blink at the unusual vision, and the boy in the glass is gone.</p><p>But I sense his presence behind me. I feel his eyes on me. Like a caress, something physical.</p><p>I try to compose myself and get up. I take back my luggage, and slowly, very slowly, I turn around. And the guy is still there.</p><p>No white coat, no sophisticated hairstyle: he's wearing a military-green jacket on a pair of soft jeans. His hair is just a little long on the shoulders and shorter on the front side. No forehead ribbon.</p><p>He's something familiar; perhaps he is an actor or a singer. Or a sportsman. I know I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't remember where.</p><p>Again that feeling of some memory that runs away like sand through your fingers...</p><p>He has his eyes fixed on the piano as if he was still enraptured by the music I played until a moment ago.</p><p>
  <em>If he asks me what it was, what do I answer? I have it in my head, but I have no idea what it is?</em>
</p><p>The thought of disappointing this wonderful stranger annoys me, and I almost hope that he doesn't ask me anything, that he doesn't even speak to me, for that matter.</p><p>His eyes move into mine. And I am mesmerized. The intensity of the gaze blocks me on the ground. I don't think I would be able to move even if I wanted to. He seems to be stunned, although his face is absolutely still, emotionless. A wonderful statue of pure jade.</p><p>As if in a trance, I sketch a smile, or at least my brain commands some movement of my face that I have no idea what it resulted into. But the intention was to smile. A crooked smile, perhaps bewildered, but still a smile.</p><p>His mouth moves imperceptibly, a movement so tiny that I wonder if it is not just on my imagination.</p><p>I don't know how long it's been. A remote corner of my mind wonders if I haven't missed the plane.</p><p>Home, I think. <em>I have to go home</em>.</p><p>I try to compose myself; I have to pass near him to reach my gate. I lower my eyes, and I move.</p><p>Out of my sight, I feel him grabbing my arm.</p><p>I stop.</p><p>I turn around.</p><p>His hand is on the black skin of the sleeve of my coat. Squeezes my forearm firmly. A gentle but persistent hold. His eyes have not moved an inch.</p><p>Out of instinct, I grab his wrist with my free hand. I don't wear gloves. It’s skin against skin.</p><p>It is like getting a shock.</p><p><em>What was that energy thing like?</em> I can feel it all now. As if he had breached my being and the Universe had responded.</p><p>It's as if each piece fell finally into place. Who am I, why am I here, where am I going... Nothing matters anymore, all the hatred of the last few days, the people who want me dead, those who, once friends, turned against me. Nothing matters anymore...</p><p><em>Who are you</em> should be the most natural question in the world, and instead, it doesn't even come to my mind. As if my soul knows exactly who he is. Knowing that this beautiful guy is already part of my life, the real one. Waiting for him. For so long...</p><p>Neither of us says a word for several minutes. At the same time, our eyes seem lost in a silent conversation of their own.</p><p>He is the first one to break the silence.</p><p>His voice is warm, so deep that it shakes me to the core.</p><p>"Wei Ying."</p><p>Two syllables.</p><p>A name.</p><p><em>My name</em>.</p><p> </p><p>I'm home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading...<br/>I guess i don't have to say you what that music was, right? ;)<br/>Oh, and please keep in mind that english is noit my first language...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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